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2 januaries

two horses muscling mudflooded hoof-- catch one on his back, hit a backwards arch tailflipping mane-lines, a spinning maple animal

risen pond moments, the moon has an accident buckshot handridden getdown 

94 95 96 97 98 99 00 01 02 03 04 

doubled over texan wannabe type honesty u can tell the truth w no words on purpose a kickflip without looking 

shallow-watered bathroom xtc sting floss more and die less often

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moving back i,ii,iii,i’ve

moving back i am apologizing from really far finding out how you’re doing in phantom-state waited for two online & from the guest bed i guess newly mine i took like 3 shots & pulled a steel arrow back near medium-sized ribs. It plinks in the cages while yall disappear mid-memory i could not be silent enough for this or evaluate our crossnothing’s anymore, & the light went cold. remembered that i sent u home once from a green porch, & this year u leave in a carport: That was our open-walled vessel about a wk ago but i have left, & i hope the shelves leave it haunted for the meantime-- that i’ll forget something else in the next cleanout, sting strings, the waning feeling of patience for like 2

moving back ii am inthe back of a steakhouse getting hired, forget-me type agency pulls me by a scent like promised snowing & a freezover; & without looking it doesn’t snow, finishing movies tonight, leveling up my guts, waited online for u, the opposite of the secondtolast song i got out-- soundy jotting at Regency Square, my fort in a tent with two other scorpios, & i knew i felt all this way, inna time hole the whole time, where it’s been 5 years but none, too none to nearby,  realized i can be southbound by 1pm, proving it over & over to nobody now but my sister mother & the Pekingese, a matri-home for healing, two thirds of my name acknowledging this need, acknowledging i can die twice, be born twice, be twice

Blanket Swimming - Underbrush Nothing i can say to the pieces falling out of my mouth is gonna make any less sense to the grouphome than my mouth letting the pieces fall -- drunk hear the panicked shout of my call home, a spell i cast, the half-holy escape from escape,  my sorry body like a recurve bow -- realizing its almost-purchase & the layered quitting meant innocent but wasn’t -- like the vanishing act inside our green bathroom i feel the scrub away & into a way, & in, too, into this again, tipped ramble, tipped bottle, tipped tender off my homecoming body. let this be a thing right now, okay?  i can only be sorry in the guest room for a year less than

i really felt the pull instantly this time i can let it, too promised quitter, cornered powerup, seen habit, unseen grabbing later on between the bags, laptop, pillows, towel blanket It was quitting myself & getting away from my infected fugue state, doing the tricks, servant magician inside me --  the illusions bounce around & i get sick in dizzied guilt, realized lie, don’t wanna say “long overdue” to another friend ever again, an extension of a poison lie -- hate the gulp of secrets, getting ignored in meditative self-lessons brought by blood, the only sorry sufficed behind my exiting, Hey I’m home in my head-reel, burned lenses give up on this, & it’s better this way it’s better this way 

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t.n.y.

The New Year has crawled halfway thru me, sleepily its leap pulling me, Continual Scroller, Eventual Upsetter scraping money, scraping my knee, well drinks falling on a curb in my turkey sandwich guest bedroom belly -- empty. Somewhere it is the first round of the playoffs & Ive chested the ball seven times in two wks, folded my shoulders around it, heavy downward, Apologetic-- momentarily slow-tearing at concrete I'm itchy from pebbles in my palms, thinking about a nightclub, thinking about commas,,, hesitate & drunkenly restart. The New Year has crawled halfway thru me, I see its tail in the grass behind me & do not move. I haven't finished reading John, I want to see more family, imagining a house w a pool & a TV that turns itself off, plasma screen. My stomach's getting softer & you're petting it on the sheet my toenail ripped a hole in over the wkd, you laugh at my belly security bc it is laughable We fall asleep sober w the TV on

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crawfish

I want crawfish & the NFL; to sweat spring thru–

Win myself over via free consultation, & ask if u could front it to me till next friday (could, and does) On the red rug consulting myself into the shag– winning myself over.

I keep u driving awake to ruleville, ms. applying dry rub to five corn cobs, passing the blunt, sip water half-stolen, can’t remember how their handwriting looked.

Farm dreams on the fake shores of deltish tieds, older guy hitting a lANe off the tractor’s armrest, still surprised at a full head of hair– & we both sip on our hands, paying for you right back there it is good, everybody’s healthy-looking in low orange lite,

Lo, Orange Lite!

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11:37 9 9 16

shaken up inside a t shirt of yours, lay me down one hundred thirty one minutes into paying rent, doubling back, paying forward, sprayed to your leathers like a stoned gloss, let me move slowly, sore-bodied apology, mouth dancing in the furs of this, doing what i do when i say too many sentences in a row, wondering about my hospitalized granddad and if i’m here without a drug, fastened into borrowed shirt hangs over stain while i shake & imagine requesting a service dog 

Admission

frequently, quickly feel like a needer, teeming leaner seen dipping out to unhandle, loosen and worsen during tomorrow’s oversobering retrospect, God playing guest host when i wake up and need Him, warm with you, palpitating, jostled

Sometimes loving will feel like knowing.

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entry

if being Caught Up is still a term relevant to r&b in 2015 then i am Caught Up In You; if its trendiness died with Second Generation Usher & i missed that then i’m sorry. i need a half plate of chicken alfredo before noon chased by sonic tots looking down the barrel of lukewarm if you need me to move; i’m at a casually dangerous place between sleep & work where i’m tossing around inuyasha tattoo ideas out of my mouth at the ceiling. they smack me on the forehead and are wet w spit. i just saw the phrase “Death Chants” in the corner of my itunes & remembered a time i tweeted those two words-- death enchants me like that fucking glimmering flower from Beauty & The Beast. i don’t really remember anything about that story, clocks & candles dance at me when i’m up at six battling daquiris, my petals falling all over the place

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two questions with T/F answers

I. you’re jumping to life again inside me for the fifth time in two days: this time it is feeling wine steam up into my sinuses, on the weird parts of my tongue that only doctors and you have seen & poked at & one bottle of Tisdale Cabernet Sauvignon is five dollars somewhere close by, you pull four times from it and pull out of my driveway. 

A) sleep two blocks from here, im holding Tisdale upside down over my sink with the hot water running & my face is full of u.

B) lose another pill jar inside my house’s mounds of wax, keep my sweatpants for another week even though i need those when our A/C drops to 67, i owe you twenty bucks for your friend’s lost pipe & i promise i’ll have that soon.

II. we didn’t canoe in chattanooga or eat lentils at the yellow deli, i keep mistaking what feels like morning not being real for you slipping out of my brain-- by noon it is a lie, i loved you in eleven rooms & i’m counting wrong. i’ve ceremoniously shot fireworks three times this summer & the last time was yesterday: you sparked & smoked on the bridge in front of me, i knocked you into the water with a belt of firecrackers that didn’t go off. spraypaint your name down the back of my shirt before i light u again, watch u go to the sky & water, explode above & in my mouth like winesteam 

A) TRUE

B) you cannot be slept off or rubbed over with a drug, you cannot get lost inside me yet because digesting you is making my guts turn over like a sleeping horse. date me in the pawn shop with two monkeys, an illegal kangaroo, a left-handed guitar u haven’t bought yet. strike two G major chords & help me almost die on hope’s porch, it is wide & well lit like 5 months of knowing u were good to me

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dogsitting 9:53AM

im dogsitting my favorite dog in town; we make eye contact and i laugh at him and he dogsmiles at me. I dogsmile back

when the pause button on my keyboard doesn’t make my itunes quit playing music immediately i get anxious that the feature has broken or that i did something wrong -- the dog snaps at one fleabite & the TV turns off automatically: iTunes pauses & im freezing in my friend’s living room while the dog sleeps on the floor, i’m writing this & his eyes are open, I think.

my friend Margaret cries 4 hrs early in hawaii. i tell her “Showering is for people who are not vacationing in hawaii.” and we are both still casually sad and it is almost funny. i tell her “Smelling like the ground isn’t bad I think smelling earthy is nice.” I sit in the half-bath under the stairs and know that if i brush my teeth i’ll bleed a little. i send u one message that says “we need to talk about Bass Pro Shops” and hope that u read it even if i’m three days late responding. 

i think of you awake 5 hours ago reading about bug secretions or our birthdays. i think of you rounding a corner with paints and spilling them on my shorts. i want to be warm in a creek with you, lets quit eating meat together, lets listen to the leaked Beach House album and repeat tracks 3, 6, and 7. chuck rocks at me but miss on purpose; find my birthday in your astrology book; text me back when im dogsitting

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sunburn bubbles stretch into vacuum tubes & parallel -- it pinstripes the skin pulled over my shoulders when i bend wrong and try to impress you & bunches up in the middle when i throw my arms around your living room, your lower back, your stack of unread leaves. Leave

panels woodglued to the wall in the apartment i never drank in with u. The undersides will dry out & peel from it, take a t-shirt off and find my skin goes soft after old fabric. I’m flaking and watching u pull it diamond-shaped from my right side. Rescue me from holes in the sand, I’m a baby soft shell turtle after salted knots you scrub in one direction; caged up in your chest-nursery I think about my Mother and her ten to thirty eggs and my ten to thirty sisters. Hatch when i’m lakeside and reddening like I found you in the aching place between my ears & brows:

I’m trying to grow without you but the house phone is still ringing, it sounds and tastes like you again and never goes to voicemail.

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manzanita cops & sand in the backyard

this year for the Fourth of July i camped in Manzanita and played woodblock in a family’s drum circle. it was my first time smoking with a 57 year old and in my sleep i heard him talk about god and collapsing banks. the International Bank of God is defaulting and will dam a nearby river soon; i’ll be there when it happens and i’ll swim through his bad lung. every bank will crumble toward the water and we’ll light the rest of the fireworks on July 5th and nobody will call the cops or tell us “this is a quiet neighborhood, and we’d like for you to stop so we can enjoy the holiday too.” there are no commissioned police officers in Manzanita -- you have to call the sheriff from the next town over if there’s an incident. i forgot my hammock and had to sleep on the ground and i dreamed about hooking up with a coworker who got fired in 2014 for an incident i cannot remember.

in Portland i met a friend from boarding school and went to a club with whiskey drinks for four dollars. i had too many but danced it off and bummed one cigarette. at goth clubs if you do not wear black you will get carded or that’s what was implied or that’s something i made up to wear black. i got in somebody’s car at 3am and slept on a floor at 4:10 and dreamed my dad rented trailers to a family with a meth lab. there was a blurry confrontation with the police that ended with the operator hanging up on me and the meth lab being built, smearing my father’s name and rental company. i woke up hating cops

i’ve been swimming in a place with a swing called “Jenkins” by locals. the first time i went i watched three teenagers share a can of Bud Light and the second time they were taking resin hits and trying to cook crawfish pulled from the clay. one of the banks is collapsing at Jenkins so there’s a rope tied & thrown down the wall to help with climbing. i slipped climbing and so did my sister and so did the boys with resin and crawfish. the bank will collapse tomorrow or next year and make mud for crawfish to hide in again

i’m a crawfish hiding in God’s Lung and he breathes my pebbled carapace in with lighter pulls each time. i want god to be a part of me like i am a part of him but we’re both getting muddier now. we sleep on the ground together and do not mind it. fireworks go off two days late in his belly, tied & thrown down, and i’m there dreaming in it

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south bend, WA

my roommates are cashing my check and using it for the internet bill and i have to make a phone call to let them do it; one of them poses with a box of five hundred dollars in quarters and sends it to me and it looks like less but weighs “as much as a VW bug” and i believe him. on the phone i tell the cashier my name and he knows it’s me because if i’m not buying Camel Blues there i’m buying a bottle of water and i always ask how he is and he always tries to sell me the eCigarette with CBD oil -- “it’s the other part of cannabis that isn’t THC. feels good. forty dollars.” i’ve been broke for two months and broken into for six.

the first time i got a full chart reading i cried i stopped after the first paragraph and told her i’ve been panicking. i’ve been panicking about sex and panicking about losing and panicking about dissolving into the creek behind my dad’s house. i balanced on a log above it to pick wild blackberries with my sister and cousins; when we filled a jar with them i stumbled and half of them fell into the water and went soft and tried to dissolve. my sun sign is Scorpio and my rising sign is Aquarius and i know that if love does not grasp me i will disappear

in the bathroom i think about the word “unravel,” the way Murakami uses it, the way it joins a character with the trees around him on a walk. Murakami has used this metaphor in both books of his that i’ve read. i count three spiders on the ceiling and think about killing them but they’re Grandaddy Long Legs and their bite does not pierce human skin and it wouldn’t even hurt if it could, it would just kill you. I think about killing you in the Murakami way, a metaphor for forgetting or unshackling. Grandaddy Long Legs are not classified as spiders; they are harvestmen arachnids and eat decomposing plant matter to survive.

when i finish my chart reading the next morning i tell her that i think it is mostly real and she agrees with me and she knows that i think of you always because i tell her that too. i scroll through your photos and see one i missed; there’s a Casio in your bed. i want you to write songs about me because i’ve written songs about you. kill me in the Murakami way, im in South Bend, WA counting spiders that could do it

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1107am

i want to touch u online and in my dream you're buying me greyhound tickets, round trip in my dream i do not need the second ticket, the RETURN stub, the blacktop playing itself backwards. i'll watch the whole thing

it snowed four inches here, are you coming to my show it's 13 hrs away from you but in your time zone

turn your pixelated back on me and stick me in your iphone mount, i'll look at you drunk and sober and remember everything

i keep showing my fucking friends One Of Us Cannot Be Wrong because i want them to listen and know i have a lover

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849AM

twelve hours ago i walked barefoot in the yard with you and we saw a frog and he looked like sand; something to do with pigment or how his warted parents looked once, or how he was a tadpole in a sunlit puddle. i think about the way he probably flicked his primordial tail, swimming, floating, learning what new legs were

i can crouch at the door of your nine year old car and kiss you on the mouth and you can smirk and say i taste like weed. i reach my arms in and wrap you up and feel between all of your freckles; sometimes i see you cry and you always apologize and cover your face, your own ceremony, i'm the napkin or the hand or the bedsheet catching tears off your chin

in the spring we sat in a Backyard Burger but both of us got chicken; i paid for it and my dad called from Washington and told me my dog died. we got it to go because i thought i saw my bones pressing into themselves, condensed and full like priority mail or a half-gallon of milk or the way a dog looks after a truck; i thought i was dying and i think i still am and i think about Ruphus all the time and how i'd probably fed him Backyard Burger years ago and how he probably didn't even feel it when it hit him

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9/21/14

"our waffle maker is down so we're serving pancakes today" i sipped and nodded and felt all forty mosquito bites chained up around your thighs and ankles, pinkish hills, dipped valleys along your hemline, like they were trying to suck the flowers from your slip, or plant more

"MENS ROOM OUT OF ORDER" sweaty and thinking about halloween, sweaty and tiled into the wall, making eye contact with a mom or her 4 year old or the few feet that separate their matching heads, curled towers bent over eggs, sunny side up, going cold, getting cut

"is your hair permanently blue?" five of us squinting in the booth at one another, a pack of hungover dogs sorting ourselves out with bread and meat between teeth, staring at bellies and howling at posters: WESTERN OMELET, MVP BREAKFAST

the most valuable place, the most valuable person, the most valuable presence, the most valuable part, the most valuable --

packing yourself down a tube in my head, drying me out next to your legs, the way you cross them in your sleep pressing letters to me in lite red 6pm

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August

Ten days ago august started Rolled sweating guts over his summermattress, throbbing and full of hot springs -- They make a noise when we move along the dented cloth box and it sounds like weeks of cheap beer leaking from our sides. Whose breathing is breaking, whose liver is fatter: It's been three 100 degree months and we're still scraping our skins, putting our hair and spit and Blood-Alcohol Content between papered glass, curving pieces in a microscope so we see our selves boiling in each other's cells :: microbiology

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grown figurine; summer between 8th and 9th grade

ive seen dad on days he's lost jobs; i did not see him the day he rode his bike and flipped over the handlebars. He shattered an elbow

shattered elbows are the gateway drug -- i am 13yrs, hydrocodone is 10mgs

seeing it like a first kiss or a hunting knife, printed numbers on a green gel capsule, i take two and know i will enjoy it too much; a hot blanket tying wrists to my chest, pushing its corners in my ears. i'm flushed, i'm cramped, i'm vibrating to thick frequencies bouncing from my back onto my twin mattress

dad's hands grab for the handlebars, his feet leave the pedals, his back swinging in the air at a sun salute and he meets the ground hard, breaks his cell phone, breaks his elbow, i'm falling in love with opiates and starting high school.

his arm heals and he gets another job

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7/26/14

in a line with a bag in my lap -- heavy one dollar burgers with the sauce you wind up licking off your fingernail so i do this: See it orange under a streetlight, lift my hand to my face for a second and it goes. 

pieces of a friend are waxing my legs spilling spitting out the stereo. It's a hot wave tickling my kneecaps, six movements of water gurgle at me, folded up in a bucket seat; i'm seeing his skeletons crunch like stale chips across us, greased, salted, ephemeral, a product, a living being, a son.

everyone is stoned

a wooden house with two sunken rooms and a third with red couches facing one another, it makes a well of legs and smoke and it is all pointed at a screen with speakers. We're Transfixed, We're Stretched  out looking at our hands flicker slow morse code at our laps. they are warm and heavy like cheap burgers